


Push It (Make the Beats Go Harder)

by bruisespristine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe: Assassins, F/F, Fisting, Mild knife play, Oral, PWPish, Praise Kink, Sub!Shaw, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without knowing what rules Root’s operating under, she can’t predict what Root’s going to do. This should have been a simple in and out mission. A needle to the neck for the sleeping drug baron’s wife in their plush four poster and a threatening note left on the pillow. Done. But if Root’s here, that means someone’s going to die. </p><p>Despite herself, Shaw can feel a stirring of excitement in her stomach. Root might be the most annoying hitman she’s ever met, but at least Shaw’s never bored when she’s around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push It (Make the Beats Go Harder)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winged_mammal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/gifts).



> So a few weeks ago [winged_mammal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal) was complaining about the lack of quality Shoot fisting fic. Happy birthday, you filth bucket. Can't guarantee the quality part, but here is some fisting for ya. 
> 
> Title from Garbage, Push It. You should, in fact, listen to this song while reading if you're into that sort of thing [(this is the noise that keeps me awake, my head explodes and my body aches) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pmd3UiNfNkA)

Shaw carefully steps over the slight wrinkle in the Persian rug running the length of the dark hallway, her night-vision goggles clearly illuminating the hazard in vivid greens. Adrenaline sings through her veins, heightening her awareness of her surroundings and making her feel sharp and edgy. She loves this feeling, embraces it with every cell in her body. She's made for this, for stealth and violence.

In her ear, Cole’s voice comes low and urgent, “Indigo, there’s an intruder scaling the East wall, Indigo, do you copy?”

“Copy that,” Shaw murmurs, flattening herself against the wall as a door swings open at in the centre of the corridor. A shadowy figure steps out and heads towards the other end of the hallway from her. Nice to know that the guard patrol is right on schedule, “target location?” 

“Target remains in the East wing master bedroom, and the climber looks like they’re headed for that window,” Shaw can hear the faint clicking of Cole’s keyboard as he no doubt moves cameras to track whomever this mysterious third party is, “looks female, long brown hair, maybe five ten, ah, shit. I think it’s Root.”

“Fuck,” Shaw mutters succinctly, her hand automatically twitching as though it’s wrapped around the stock of a gun... or the edge of a table as Root... fuck. Focus, Shaw, “is she here on a hit?”

“Gimme a moment,” Cole breathes, his typing speed increases as Shaw slips into the same stairwell the guard just emerged from, padding up the steps at an easy jog, checking the timer on her wrist to make sure she’s within the parameters they’d worked out before accepting the job. 

“Nothing I can find,” Cole mutters, and Shaw curses. Without knowing what rules Root’s operating under, she can’t predict what Root’s going to do. This should have been a simple in and out mission. A needle to the neck for the sleeping drug baron’s wife in their plush four poster and a threatening note left on the pillow. Done. But if Root’s here, that means someone’s going to die. 

Despite herself, Shaw can feel a stirring of excitement in her stomach. Root might be the most annoying person she’s ever met, but at least Shaw’s never bored when she’s around. She sidles out of the stairwell into the main East corridor, the bedroom only two doors down.

“She’s through the window, Shaw,” Cole spits the words like bullets and Shaw picks up her pace, jogging silently and pausing outside the door in question, listening for any hints to the situation within, “I lost her, no cameras in there.”

“I’m going in,” Shaw breathes, “find me an exit.”

“Will do, going dark,” Cole mutters back, and the comm falls silent. He’s still listening, and will reopen his line if necessary, but in deference to Shaw’s need to concentrate he’s muted his end.

Shaw takes a second to check her weaponry with confident fingers, knife on the wrist, baton in her hand—this is a no deaths mission for her—and guns within easy reach if she needs them. 

A light clicks on in the bedroom, throwing a blade of light across Shaw’s feet, followed by muffled thudding sounds. Swiftly removing her goggles and clipping them to her waist she takes a deep breath and grabs the door handle. 

It clicks loudly as she turns it and barrels into the room, rolling immediately in case Root’s surprised into taking a shot at her. 

The room is bright and stings her eyes for a moment as she takes cover beside the enormous bed, but when literally nothing happens she cautiously peeks up over the bed to be greeted by the sight of Root, sitting cross-legged on the plush duvet.

Root bites into the apple in her hand with sharp, white teeth. It crunches loudly in the silent room. There’s no weapon in sight, and Shaw quickly takes in the fact that the bed is empty, although it’s mussed like it’s been recently vacated. 

Shaw slides up into a crouch, muscles tensed and coiled, ready for action. Root just cocks her head at the walk-in wardrobe and gives her a little smirk. 

Without taking her eyes off Root, Shaw clips her baton to her belt, pads to the wardrobe and opens it. On the floor of the walk-in, a man and a woman are trussed up and gagged, eyes wide and terrified. But alive. Shaw snorts, relaxing, and shuts the door on them even as they shake their heads frantically.

“What’s the job?” She turns around, leans against the door, takes a good look at Root on the bed. She’s clad in black leather, as is her usual assassination outfit of choice, skin-tight pants and a ribbed black T-shirt under a well-designed jacket that looks both protective and flexible. 

She looks fucking hot, and Shaw narrows her eyes at her, willing the sudden wave of arousal that punches her in the guts to just leave her alone. Sadly, her body rarely obeys her when Root’s around, more interested in obeying Root. It's a lot more fun that way.

Root licks her lips and Shaw’s eyes follow her tongue like it’s magnetic, garnering a slow, sexual smirk which shocks her back into reality and Shaw shakes her head, trying to focus. Fucking Root and her goddamn overt comeons when Shaw’s all pumped up on adrenaline. It’s basically cheating. 

“Ah, no job. I just heard you were in town, thought I’d take you on a date,” Root’s grin unfurls on her face, somehow creepy and incredibly hot at the same time. 

Shaw carefully digs her nails into the palm of her hand hard enough to bruise. “A date...” she repeats, disbelief clear in her tone. 

Root waves a hand expansively, “yeah, a date. I didn’t really get to say goodbye last time, what with you passing out on me and a job coming in. I hope you weren’t sad about it.” 

Shaw can only manage an incoherent noise of exasperation, and she stomps to the bed, pulling the note she was supposed to leave out of her pocket. The point of this mission was to emphasis that the mark was not safe in his own home, and tying him and his wife up in the wardrobe is definitely an acceptable result under the parameters she was given. She angrily pins the paper to the pillow with the cheap knife she bought especially for the occasion, using enough force that the paper almost tears in half.

“Making it hard to read? How extra-terrifying,” Root’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, and Shaw’s shoulders tense. 

“I didn’t _pass out_ ,” she growls, refusing to turn around because looking at Root always makes it harder to think, what with the way she eyes Shaw like a piece of meat, bringing vivid memories to repeat themselves in Shaw’s brain until she can’t concentrate properly. Clouding her mind with visions of pale skin and sharp teeth and the dark bruises they leave behind. Her pussy aches with the recollections, damn, apparently not looking didn’t do the trick. But at least she’s facing away and Root won’t see the arousal she’s sure is painted across her face. 

“Passed out, fell asleep. Whichever. You were so peaceful, all splayed out and sweaty, covered in come,” Root bites into her apple again, another loud, wet crunch. Somehow the noise makes Shaw’s inner muscles clench.

“Uh, Shaw. You know I can hear you both, right?” Cole opens the line, sounding faintly embarrassed, and Shaw groans quietly.

“Yeah Cole, sorry. I’m all good here. You can take off,” she mutters, toeing the carpet in her black boots, still not looking at Root.

“You sure, do you have an exit?” He manages to put his professional voice back on and Shaw takes a deep breath, turning around slowly. Root is watching her with an intense, focussed expression, and she bites into her apple as soon as Shaw makes eye contact. How she makes eating an apple look like a sex act, Shaw isn't totally sure.

“Yeah, I have an exit,” There’s no way Root hasn’t figured out an exit, and Shaw can’t deal with having Root in front of her and Cole in her ear right now. Root does this to her, every time, cuts her higher reasoning into shreds, but Shaw also knows that Root will make sure she gets out, if it comes to that. And Shaw is one hundred percent sure she's not gonna be allowed to leave this room until Root's fucked her brains out. No reason to keep Cole on the line and embarrass him. 

“Oh, Sameen. Is that a yes to our date?” Root coos, looking joyous. She slides off the bed in a feral, liquid movement and Shaw finds herself rooted to the spot, mouth dry and pulse picking up.

She doesn’t reply, but Root doesn’t care, practically bouncing across the room until she’s pressed up against Shaw’s front, and Shaw still can’t move until Root leans down and whispers, “tonight, I’m going to fist you,” and Cole squawks on the end of the line before cutting the comms with a distinctive beep and Shaw’s legs do something weird that make her stumble and somehow she ends up flat on her back on the large bed, with Root on top of her, and then Root’s mouth is on hers and she forgets how to breathe.

Root bites her lip, hard, pain flashes through her like a lightning bolt and Shaw’s hands come up to pull Root closer automatically, her hips lifting against Root’s body to try and get pressure against her savagely aching centre. Root hovers, forcing Shaw’s legs apart with her knees, not letting her get any contact. She bullies Shaw’s mouth open for her tongue, sliding inside and licking at Shaw’s teeth, sending waves of shuddering sensation boiling through her. 

Shaw’s peripherally aware that they are in an unsecured location, guards in the hallways, hostages in the walk-in wardrobe, and no backup on the outside, but that knowledge is swiftly washed away in the tidal wave of lust that floods her when Root yanks both of Shaw’s hands above her head and has them zip-tied together in a matter of seconds. Knees dig violently into the thick muscles of Shaw’s thighs as Root pushes her weight down and Shaw lets out a low moan.

“There, that’s better. Keep them above your head, or you’ll regret it,” Root purrs, her voice clotted with desire as she wriggles down a little, biting Shaw’s earlobe with brutal teeth. Shaw turns her head, and she can see the knife she slammed into the pillow only a few inches away from her neck, the paper crinkled and torn under it.

Blood pounds through Shaw’s body making her feel light-headed and dizzy, every inch of her tense and throbbing, but she arches under Root’s mouth as it trails hotly down her neck like she's never known how to do anything else, “fuck,” she can’t help the curse that spills out when Root’s hand finds her breast, scraping over her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra.

“That’s definitely the intention,” Root licks up her neck, sending another wave of fireworks careening through Shaw’s stomach, “you’re gonna be so good for me, Sameen. Aren’t you?”

This battle of wills never tilts in Shaw’s favour, but she always puts in a decent effort, and she bites her sore lip hard in an attempt to swallow the reply that threatens to burst out of her, the ‘yes, god, I’ll be so good, Root, just touch me, please,’ that swells in her chest.

Root chuckles, clearly finding her temporary defiance to be the height of amusement, and then she sits up, straddling Shaw’s hips and pulling a switch-blade knife out of her cleavage. Her fucking _cleavage_. 

Shaw actually whimpers, her hips dancing under Root at the sight of the silver blade as Root flicks it open with a deft twist of her wrist, “aren’t you?” She repeats, and fucking _licks_ the knife blade, her tongue pink and agile and somehow the most erotic thing Shaw has ever seen. 

The words jump out without her permission, “yeah, yeah Root, I’ll be good,” she manages to choke the begging section back down, but the words burn in her sternum like hot coals. 

“I know you will, sweetie,” Root holds the knife up to the light, admiring the shine, and then lowers it to the hollow between Shaw’s collarbones, applying absolutely no pressure and making Shaw feel like her entire body is spiralling out of that tiny, metallic point of connection. "You're always so good for me. Do you remember your safe word?" 

Shaw can barely breathe, her ribs too tight, her skin too small. Root gives her a mock sympathetic look and slides the blade under the collar of Shaw’s shirt, angling it and pulling downwards just a little. "You remember?" 

Shaw forces the words past tingling lips, "yeah, I remember." A look of pleasure passes over Root's face and she moves her hand. The fabric catches, yanks tight against the back of Shaw’s neck and then gives, tearing under the sharp metal and Root methodically cuts down the front of her entire shirt, pushing it to the sides and making an approving noise as she caresses Shaw’s abdomen with her eyes. 

And then she cuts off Shaw’s bra. The knife catches Shaw’s skin just under her breastbone, digging in for one split second of hot pain that feels so much like lust Shaw can barely separate the sensations, doesn’t even try. 

Distantly, she knows she should be irritated that her clothes are trashed, should be wondering what she’s going to wear when they leave the house, but most of her thought processing is completely offline at this point and the teeny part of her that does care is being systematically suffocated by lust. 

Root slides off her, dragging her empty hand down Shaw’s chest, nails leaving sharp pink lines in their path all the way down to the waistband of her pants. Shaw makes some sort of embarrassing, desperate noise and closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the triumph on Root’s face.

She feels Root’s hands unbuckle her belt, lies there passively while Root fucking cuts her pants off instead of taking them off like a normal human, clenches on nothing when the sharp blade nicks her skin gently and opens her eyes only when Root stops touching her.

The assassin is stood back from the bed, openly admiring Shaw splayed out on the blankets, hands zip-tied above her head, wearing only black cotton boy shorts and her combat boots, skin covered in fading pink lines. Root hasn’t even drawn blood, Shaw realises, she must have been using the back of the knife and Shaw’s clear over-sensitiveness to maximum effect. 

Shaw trails her eyes up Root’s still leather-clad body. She knows it’s useless to ask her to take her clothes off, Root will only keep them on just to punish her for making a request, and she never gets naked anywhere unsecured anyway. That same luxury is not afforded to Shaw, ever. 

Her breathing hitches as Root’s hot gaze trails down her body, physically feeling the weight of her eyes as she traces over every muscle, every curve and dip and hollow. Root might look at her for hours, Shaw’s lost all sense of time, her body screaming for contact, for something to relieve the overwhelming pressure building inside her, and then Root steps forward. 

She rests a knee on the bed, then leans down and pushes her closed fist against the cotton of Shaw’s already soaked underwear. Shaw almost comes on the spot. It’s a close thing. She thinks if Root moved her hand just a little, she’d fall apart, the tension would melt out of every limb and she’d be left soft and pliable on the blankets. 

But Root just holds her hand there, her head cocked with an expression of pure fascination on her face, and then she licks her lips and moves her hand away, cutting the sides of Shaw’s shorts with swift, almost brutal movements. 

Shaw feels a momentary burst of satisfaction as she feels the desperation in Root’s touch, and then Root is pushing fingers into her and Shaw can’t think at all, can only feel the delightful sensation of being stretched out. Root’s thumb brushes over her clit, once, twice, Root's fingers twist inside sending sparks behind her eyelids and she comes.

It’s so hard to keep her hands above her head as her orgasm sweeps through her, tightening her muscles and dragging a choking cry from her throat. She arches on the bed, trying to get closer as her muscles clench and grab at Root’s driving fingers, hot pleasure suffusing every cell of her body. 

Root fucks her through it, never slows her fingers, adds another as soon as Shaw’s muscles relax enough to let her, and Shaw writhes on the bed, sure she’s never been this full, this stretched, this swollen and desperate, “please, please,” she grinds out between clenched teeth, wishing she had something to bite down on, and Root twists her fingers across Shaw’s gspot, sending another bolt of lightning through her. 

Her nipples ache for contact, her skin is hot and tight, her muscles jumping and her pussy still aching for more, more. 

“I thought I’d need lube, but now I’m not so sure,” Root murmurs thoughtfully, twisting her fingers again and shocking a cry out of Shaw, “you’re soaked, you’re so wet, Sameen, fuck,” that’s Shaw’s favourite thing, when Root loses that hard edge of control and starts muttering things while she fucks Shaw. 

Shaw moans in approval of the words, yanks at the ziptie around her wrists hard enough to make the plastic dig in, little shock-waves of pain rolling down her arms and pooling around Root’s fingers working in her.

“Oh,” Root mutters, like she’s just remembered something and suddenly Shaw is empty and abandoned, gasping like a beached fish as her body tries to figure out what has happened, “the mirror,” Root's gone from between her legs, but Shaw can barely see her, too strung out to sit up and look around the room. 

Root does something, and lights come on in the bed, strips around the sides, and Shaw realises that above her the top of the four poster is one enormous mirror, she can see herself, loose-limbed and desperate, wide-eyed and panting. Root climbs onto the bed, lies down next to Shaw and points up, “now you can watch me fist you, isn’t that awesome?”

She doesn’t wait for Shaw’s response, which is probably good, because Shaw isn’t sure she remembers how to talk, and abruptly Root is manhandling her up the bed, leaning her against the pillows and wriggling to kneel between Shaw’s open legs with a look of eagerness shining in her whisky eyes.

“You can look here, or up, but don’t close your eyes, lover,” she has that dangerous edge in her voice now, the one that means Shaw definitely should do as she’s told, and Shaw nods, swallowing thickly.

Root slides down a little, braces one hand on Shaw’s thigh and pushes hard enough to stretch the muscles of her hip and bites her lip as she pushes three fingers back into Shaw’s soaked pussy. 

Shaw watches her eager body take the penetration, blinking furiously but determinedly keeping her eyes open and fixed on Root’s hand. Root’s gaze is laser-focussed there too, Shaw can feel it like a brand, like a spotlight of heat and power directed right at her throbbing cunt. She groans as she watches Root pull out, fold her index and little finger together and push all four fingers back in, flaring them out as soon as she’s inside. 

Shaw’s breath is coming in little, irregular sips, and she would be worried that she’d pass right out if it wasn’t for the fact that Root fucking her feels so goddamn good she doesn’t have space for concern in her whole body, she’s made of heat and light and clenching, throbbing muscle, and Root will take care of her. 

“I’ve got you,” Root looks up at her, demanding eye-contact, like she’s reading Shaw’s mind as well as her body, “breathe, Sameen, in and out, breathe,” Shaw’s chest constricts, lungs empty, and then Root taps her roughly on the chest with her free hand and she remembers how to inhale. Oxygen floods her, clearing the sparkles that have started dancing in her vision without her realising. 

“Good girl,” Root pats her thigh gently and slows her gentle thrusts to almost nothing, making Shaw whimper in protest, but then Root’s folding her thumb across her palm and pushing it inside as well and Shaw has never been so fucking full in her entire life, and she feels like she might pass out, or die, or come apart into tangled little pieces of nothingness, but Root moves her hand and Shaw doesn’t die, doesn’t pass out, she just somehow starts coming so hard she thinks she might never stop. 

Shaw doesn’t know what’s happening, can’t sort the sensations from each other, but she’s so fucking full and god, she can feel how tight her muscles are gripping around Root’s wrist, and Root pulls back a little and thrusts back in and Shaw’s back arches so far she thinks her spine might snap as her orgasm somehow triples in intensity and spangles her vision with black blurs and sparkling white lights. Her limbs are full of lightning and she can’t see, can’t hear, can’t breathe.

Without seeming to move, Root’s mouth is suddenly burning hot on Shaw’s clit, and her whole fucking hand is still inside Shaw, twisting and moving and filling her so much and Shaw comes and comes and comes until she floats away from her body into blackness.

***

“Shhh, shhh, sweetie, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay. You’ve been so good, Sameen, so good, you’re okay,” Root’s voice penetrates the thick clouds muffling Shaw’s ears, and unwillingly she peels her eyes open. 

Root is looking down at her, pink spots in her pale cheeks and a diamond-hard edge glittering in her—frankly always quite manic—eyes. Shaw tries to say something but it dies in her throat, and Root leans down, kisses her face, kisses her cheekbone and eyebrow and forehead with soft, gentle lips, “you’re okay, I promise,” Shaw’s limp and drenched with sweat, and between her legs is soaked, she can feel it trickling down uncomfortably, but her body refuses to move. 

Root’s thumb strokes across her cheek, and it is with some surprise Shaw realises her face is wet as well, and she blinks her eyes, feeling the salty sting of tears. 

“Mrphgle,” Shaw tries to say, ‘get off me,’ and it doesn’t quite work, but Root seems to understand, backing away and sitting up, her hand hovering over Shaw’s knee like she’s dying to touch her. Shaw manages to bend her leg half an inch so their skin brushes and a look of relief flashes over Root’s face almost too quick to see. 

Slowly, Shaw regains control over her unresponsive body, and hauls herself into a sitting position, wordlessly holding her wrists out to Root who immediately grabs the knife from the bedside table and slices the ties. If Shaw didn’t know her better she’d think Root looked worried. 

Completely non-verbal, unable to sort words out, Shaw wriggles forward and presses her face against Root’s tense cheek. Root relaxes immediately, sliding her hand around Shaw’s back and drawing gentle patterns on her damp skin. 

They sit for a few minutes until Shaw feels like she has control over her legs, and then she stands, almost stumbling but Root’s hand on her back helps her balance and she finds her feet. The throbbing ache between her legs is distracting, and she ruefully grabs her destroyed shirt, using it to wipe herself down and trying really hard not to whimper. She doesn’t succeed, and when she glances back at Root her eyes are black with lust. 

“I have a hotel room,” Shaw mumbles, and Root slips off the bed, still fully clothed. She looks at her own hand, shiny with Shaw’s juices and licks her lips. 

“I know. I left some stuff there earlier,” the cockiness in her voice is unmistakable, and Shaw throws the come-smeared shirt in her face in response.

Root wipes her hand off quickly and picks up a black backpack, unzipping it and throwing a plastic bag to Shaw. Shaw opens it warily and rolls her eyes when she finds an exact replica of her previous outfit, accurate down to the sizing. Root just gives her a dazzling grin when she glances at her.

“I was pretty hopeful,” she bites her lip, eyeing Shaw’s naked body as she pulls the clothes out of the bag, “can you climb?” 

Shaw bounces a little as she pulls undies and pants on without taking her boots off. How the fuck Root knew what _underwear_ she was going to be wearing is a total mystery to her, but Root always seems to know more than she should about everything. “I think so. I guess we’ll find out. It’s only two stories anyway,” and Shaw is pretty sure she could fall that far if she needed to, there’s a soft flowerbed under this window at least. 

“I’ll go first, we gotta get clear in the next four minutes, cops are on their way,” Root waves a hand at her to hurry up, and zips up her backpack, heading for the window and fiddling with a rope rig.

“How do you know that?” 

Root just grins mysteriously, “I have a little birdie helping out too. You might wanna let Cole know you’re alive,” she swings a leg over the windowsill, licks her lips, “ready?” 

Shaw buttons her jeans, wipes her face with the back of her hand and stuffs her destroyed clothing into the plastic bag, clipping it to her belt with a thoughtfully provided carabiner, “for you? Never, apparently. Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> PSA please use lube for fisting


End file.
